New Year's Resolutions

          I did not preach the homily this past weekend, so in lieu of a homily I thought I'd share an idea I had regarding New Year's resolutions.  New Year's Day is the great "self-help" holiday, in which we are full of hope that the new year brings and some healthy (and often a lot of unhealthy) self-contempt.  The problem is that we often focus way to much on the externals: losing weight, exercising, learning a new skill, etc.  If you're a Christian, however, I'd charge you to think more spiritually.  Here are three resolutions that will bolster your spiritual life in 2020 (or create one, if you've been lacking it!):

1. Grow in piety: Piety is a devoted fulfillment of one's duty.  The pious person prays daily, frequents the sacraments, studies the Bible, and does other spiritual reading.  These pious practices are like core exercises: they're sometimes boring, but they make your whole body stronger.  Resolve to grow in piety by doing these things:
1. Pray more/better.  Check out this video from Ascension Presents for a plan to do this.  https://youtu.be/1UPIvsvWcUc
2. Go to Mass and Confession.  Mass every Lord's Day (Sunday) and Holy Day of Obligation (there are 5... look them up!).
3. Study the Bible/Read.  Spend time every day doing this!  Start with 10 minutes a day and grow from there.  If your parish has a Formed.org subscription, there are plenty of study/reading resources there.  If not, ask your parish priest for some resources.
2. Be a better evangelizer: Evangelization is not much more than communicating the good news that Jesus is our Savior and in him we have hope of eternal happiness.  We can do this though our words (spoken and written) and our actions (self-sacrificing acts of charity, both small and big).  Using words is often a challenge for folks, so here's three simple steps to prepare yourself to be an evangelizer:
1. Spend some time thinking about your own faith story.  How did you come to know God and Christ Jesus as your Savior?  What impact has that made on your life?  What is the hope that you live with because of this?
2. Write this story down and think about how you would share it.  Most people don't talk about their faith because they've never really verbalized it.  By writing it down, you give words to your story, making it easier to share when the opportunity arises.
3. Share it!  Now that you know how to verbalize the Good News (because you've verbalized how it has been good news for you), you are ready to share it with those around you.  Do not be afraid!
3. Help relieve suffering wherever you can: The Kingdom of God is a return to the Garden of Eden when all of creation dwelt in harmony.  Sin destroyed that harmony and suffering is the result.  But now that Jesus has conquered sin, we can begin to re-establish that harmony around us by helping to relieve suffering and by always striving to make a positive impact on those around us.  Here are some ways to do that:
1. Practice random acts of kindness.
2. Engage in regular service to those in need.
3. Perform the corporal and spiritual works of mercy.

          These are three very broad resolutions, but they are resolutions that can be repeated year after year and never exhaust their fruitfulness.  Don't expect perfection for yourself, but do expect growth.  Write down some weekly goals for each of these resolutions and spend some time writing down how you did each week.  You'll begin to see your growth, even amidst setbacks.  Still further, your relationship with God will grow, and there's nothing more valuable than that.

          Remember that I'm walking this journey with you!  Let us encourage and support one another as we strive for the heights of happiness in this world in anticipation of the incomparable happiness we'll know in heaven.  May God bless you all in this year of grace, 2020!  Verso l'alto!

Getting past our past

          Last weekend was a "Deacon Sunday" in which our Permanent Deacons preached the Masses.  Therefore, no homily for the 4th Sunday of Lent.

Homily: 5^th Sunday in Lent – Cycle C

          Human memory is a marvelous thing.  I mean “marvelous” in the true sense: that it is a thing of marvel.  In ways that we only partially understand, it can bring us back to moments from the past and make them seem fresh and new again.  This, of course, cuts both ways.  This power of memory is a good thing when it brings back moments that were positive.  It is a bad thing, however, when it brings back moments that were negative and hurtful.  In regards to this, though, memory is truly neutral: it stores both the positive and the negative without prejudice to them being good or bad.  Interesting, then, that our Scriptures today all seem to point towards us moving past the past: that is, moving past our memory.

          In the first reading, we heard God imploring the people to forget what had happened to them in the past and to look, rather, towards the new thing that he is doing.  We remember (no pun intended) that Isaiah was a prophet during the Babylonian Exile.  The Israelites, therefore, remembered how their sinfulness led to them being abandoned by God into the power of the Babylonians.  God, however, had seen their subjugation and was ready to lead them back out to their home land.  Therefore, he gives them this message: do not think to what was before, but rather pay attention to what I am doing now and see that I am ready lead you out into a new life.  In other words, “Get ready to move ‘past your past’ into a new future that I’m preparing.”

          In the second reading, Paul, writing to the Christians in Philippi, speaks of forgetting what “lies behind” (that is, his former way of life) so that he can turn towards what “lies ahead” (namely, his new life in Christ).  So much so that he says that he considers everything of his former way of life as “loss” for the sake of knowing the salvation of Jesus Christ. In other words, he has decided to “move past his past” in order to enjoy new life in Christ.

          In the Gospel, among other important things that Jesus does in this story, Jesus tells the woman to forget her past and to go forward in her life, without sin.  This woman was caught in adultery and had her shame confounded by being made a public spectacle, solely for the purpose of trying to catch Jesus in a trap.  (And I won’t even bring up how unjust it was that the woman was shamed for adultery, not the man.)  Jesus, however, (after he shames the scribes and Pharisees) shows her that he doesn’t want her to focus on her past—even her immediate past—but rather that he wants her to move “past her past” and towards a future without sin.

          If you haven’t noticed, Lent and confession call us to do the same; and here’s what I mean.  You see, in the first part of Lent, we are challenged to examine ourselves and to acknowledge our failings.  In other words, we’re challenged to look back and to remember our past so as to recognize our sins so that we might repent from them.  Now, in this, the “home stretch” of Lent, we are challenged to look towards Christ and to look, therefore, towards the things that lie ahead.  In other words, as we have recognized our sins of the past and have turned away from them, we are called to forget about our sin—that is, to move “past our past”—and turn ourselves firmly towards the good work that God has given to us.

          Confession, in this light, is really just Lent in miniature.  In order to prepare, we must first look at our past and identify the ways in which we’ve turned from God.  Then, we place these things before God in the sacrament and we ask for his forgiveness.  Once we receive it, we are sent forth to focus again on the work that God has given to us.  In other words, we’re called to move “past our past” into the future to which God has called us.

          Friends, this is super-important to say, because focusing too much on the past—especially our past sins—is to continue to be enslaved by it.  Too often people come to confession and say “I just feel so guilty for my past sins”.  When they do, I often highlight two things: First, that this means that they haven’t forgiven themselves for their sin.  I tell them that, since God is the only one who can condemn them for their sin, to continue to condemn themselves for their sin is, frankly, silly!  Second, I tell them that, to continue to feel guilty for their sin—and, therefore, to dwell on their past sins—is still to be enslaved by them.  If they had already confessed their sin, God has forgiven them and set them free.  Nonetheless, they voluntarily return to being enslaved by them because they can’t let go of the guilt that they feel.  I then remind them that God is only concerned about their past in as much as they have acknowledged their sin and have turned away from it.  Once that occurs, God is only concerned with where they are today and with where they are going in the future.  God is “eternally present”: so the past isn’t “past” to him and the future isn’t “future” to him; rather, all of it is (somehow) right now.  Thus, if someone is living in the past, he/she cannot find God, who is here, now, in the present.

          This is the story of the woman caught in adultery.  She was caught in her sin and condemned before God (that is, Jesus).  Presumably, Jesus could see the sorrow in her heart for her sin and so decided to show her mercy.  Thus, after shaming the scribes and Pharisees to turn away from their pride-filled, murderous rage, he turns to her, sets her free, and charges her not to return to her past, but rather to go forward in a new way when he said, “Go, and from now on do not sin any more”.

          Friends, these last two weeks of Lent must be about making our definitive break from our past sinfulness in order to focus on that which lies ahead.  Otherwise, Easter will pass and we’ll have no great memories to show for it.  A great way to do this will be to spend a lot of time meditating on the Lord’s passion.  I adjure you to take time to think about who Jesus is and about what he suffered because of our sins (yes, yours and mine, right here in 2019).  If you need help, go to the book rack in the gathering space and look for a book that can help you.  Or, if you’re on Formed.org, look for “Three Days that Changed the World”, a talk by Fr. Hector Perez, or some of the other talks available in that online library.  Then, having reflected on his passion, think about being united to him: united in his suffering, yes, but also in his resurrection.  In this, you will begin to see that the things of this world will need to be left behind so that you can focus on this thing—that is, being united to Christ in his resurrection—which lies ahead.

          Finally, make a good confession, if you haven’t already done so, and turn to Our Lady and allow her to lead you by her motherly care.  Friends, this is everything!  And so, please don’t ignore this time.  I promise that you will find great peace in your life if you can learn to leave your past in the past and focus on what lies ahead: which is the glorious life of the resurrected Christ; the life which is foreshadowed here in this Eucharist we celebrate today.

Given at Saint Mary’s Cathedral: Lafayette, IN – April 6^th & 7^th, 2019

Make straight the way of God within...

Homily: 2^nd Sunday of Advent – Cycle C

          Having grown up in a suburban area southwest of Chicago, I’ve come to appreciate much of the wide open spaces that I’ve often encountered since living here in Indiana.  I mean, we had parks and other open spaces where I grew up, but nothing like the expansive farms of corn, wheat, and soybeans like we enjoy here in north-central Indiana.  And, as I drive through different areas of the state, I enjoy taking in these great open spaces that go on for as far as I can see and which often make me wonder about just how much more there is that I don’t see.

          Having grown up here in the Midwest, however, where the land is mostly flat, I am unable to appreciate what it means to live in the midst of mountains and valleys.  Only by way of vacations or other short trips have I experienced what it means to have to drive over or around a mountain to get to the next town or city or to have to climb down into the valley in order to find the road that will take you to the market.  As a result, I am unable to truly appreciate the difficulties associated with living in areas like these.  A Haitian proverb, speaking about the reality of the terrain in Haiti, but also about the difficulties they experience in their lives, says this: “Beyond the mountains, there are more mountains.”  Perhaps many of you are in the same boat as me and unable to appreciate the difficulties of living in such areas.  Thus, our ability to appreciate what the prophets speak about in today’s readings is, perhaps, somewhat limited as well.

          In the first reading, from the prophet Baruch, we find the people of Jerusalem in mourning for their children who have been exiled by foreign invaders.  As such, they have clothed themselves in the traditional garb of mourners.  The prophet has come to announce that, by God’s mercy, the children of Jerusalem are about to return and so he joyfully announces that the inhabitants of Jerusalem are to throw off their garments of mourning and are to put on festival clothing.  Then, they are to go to the highest place and look off in the distance.  What they will find is that every mountain has been flattened and every valley has been filled in in order to make a straight and wide way for the triumphant return of their children, thus signaling a bright future for their nation.

          For those of you who may have lived among mountains, I suspect that this image of mountains that have been flattened and valleys that have been filled in would seem to be very vivid as you imagine what life could have been like had the same happened in the area in which you lived.  Those of us who have spent most of our lives in Indiana, however, are probably more apt to focus on that image of a wide, flat space, and what that would look like from a high place (though it wouldn’t have to be too high around here).  Imagine how incredible it would be to see a whole nation of people traversing some of these expansive farmlands as if they were returning to their homeland.  Well, perhaps you’re not impressed, but nevertheless it is exactly these Scriptural images that the Church gives us this week in order to help us understand what God is calling us to do during this Advent.

          What we see in that first reading is that the prophet is calling for two movements: one, that the people must first prepare themselves, removing their garments of mourning and putting on festival garments, and two, that the way must be prepared for the one who is coming, making it level and smooth.

          Then, in the Gospel reading, John the Baptist turns this call inward as he calls the people to a “baptism of repentance.”  As the herald of Jesus, the Messiah who was about to reveal himself, John was calling the people to prepare not only by outward appearances, but also by inward dispositions as well: thus making their hearts ready to receive the Messiah for whom they had long waited.

          A line from one of my favorite Advent hymns states: “make straight the way of God within.”  John was calling the people to prepare the way for the Messiah to enter into their hearts.  Thus, it was not enough to cleanse their hearts from sin by a baptism in the Jordan River, but rather they also needed to prepare a way for the Messiah to enter into their hearts by true repentance: that is, by truly changing their lives and leaving behind their sinful ways.

          My brothers and sisters, we recall John the Baptist’s words today in order to remind us that God calls each of us to prepare our hearts to receive him.  God wants to come to us and to dwell in us and to lead us to our heavenly homeland, and, although we have already been baptized by water and the Spirit in the Sacrament of Baptism, we are still constantly in need of a “baptism of repentance” like the one John called for in the Gospel reading: for when we examine our hearts we discover that the way into them is neither straight nor smooth; rather it is obstructed by ‘mountains of sin’ and ‘valleys of despair’ and self-pity.  Far from being straight and wide, the way into our hearts is narrow as it twists and turns around these mountains and valleys: a result of rationalizing our behavior instead of correcting it.

          Our Advent task, therefore, is to knock down the mountains of sin and fill in the valleys of despair and self-pity, thus straightening the way for God into our hearts.  The best way that we can do this is to return to the Sacrament of Reconciliation, for it is there that we can face the mountains that our sins have erected between ourselves and God as well as the ever-widening valleys of despair caused by our broken relationships with those around us.  And then we can watch as the power of God’s grace flattens the mountains and fills in the valleys, thus making the way between us smooth and easy to pass.  (Hmm, what a Christmas gift that would be: reconciliation with God and one another…)

          You know, it’s a shame for us that we are unable to celebrate the feast day of St. Juan Diego this year, since today, his feast day, falls on a Sunday.  It’s a shame for us because he can be for us a great example of one who, with the help of God’s grace, was able to flatten the mountains of doubt and fill in the valleys of fear in order to bring Our Lady’s message to the Bishop in Tenochtitlan, thus making the way smooth for Christ to enter the hearts of millions of people in Mexico and beyond.  Perhaps, in that same spirit, we, too, could “make straight the way of God within” and do the same right here in Indiana.

Given at Saint Mary’s Cathedral: Lafayette IN – December 8^th & 9^th, 2018

Staying connected to the vine

Homily: 5^th Sunday of Easter – Cycle B

          History's greatest leaders (that is, those whom have had a positive influence on the world) have a way to influence people from the outside in.  With their speech, their ideas, their example, and even their presence these leaders move and motivate those around them: drawing others into their good work and stirring them to action.  Jesus Christ—the world’s greatest leader, amen?—goes much deeper, influencing us from the outside in, yes, but also from the inside out.

          Jesus calls us not only from the outside—through the Scriptures, the Church, the actions of his providential care, and the example of his faithful disciples—but he also unites himself to us so intimately that his very life flows through our veins.  In other words, he’s “inside” us, too.  "I am the vine, you are the branches," we hear him say in today's Gospel.  If we think about this image, we can ask ourselves: “Where does a vine stop and its branches begin?”  And the answer is difficult to come by (unless, perhaps, you are a biologist).  The union between vine and branch is often too integrated to tell.  The sap that gives life to the plant runs seamlessly through the vine and into the branches.  This is not unlike how grace—the sap which is God’s divine life—flows through Christ and into us.  And so we see how, in using this image, Christ is identifying how he stands alone among every other great leader in history: not only does he beat them at their own game, so to speak—influencing others from the outside better than anyone else—but he plays at a level that is so far beyond those other leaders, literally empowering those who follow him with strength they did not have on their own; and in this demonstrating that he is more than just a leader, but that he is truly Lord of all things.  How grateful, therefore, we should be that he has seen fit to make us branches of his vine!

          And yet, as human beings we are a unique kind of branch.  A branch on a natural vine has no choice about whether or not it will stay attached to the vine.  We, however, are responsible for keeping ourselves united to the vine and can choose to separate ourselves from the vine.  And this is a problem: because, as branches, we are tasked to bear fruit from the vine for the world; and if we separate ourselves from the vine, Jesus tells us that we will not bear fruit; and not only that, but that we will then wither, die, and be burned.  So the question arises, how do we stay united to the vine, so that we can bear fruit and, therefore, share in eternal life?  I see four fundamental ways to do just that.

          First, staying united to the vine means constantly growing in our life of prayer.  Prayer is how we expose our souls to the divine sunlight.  Just as plants need exposure to sunlight for energy, so we need to expose ourselves to God's truth and love through reading and reflecting on the sacred scriptures and through conversing with God in the quiet of our hearts.  This must be a daily habit and must grow and adapt over the years in order for us to continue to grow and produce fruit.

          Second, staying united to the vine means making good use of the sacraments, most especially the sacraments of the Eucharist and confession.  If a branch gets damaged in a wind storm, a good gardener knows how to tie it up properly so that it will once again attach itself firmly to the trunk: he binds it or grafts it back on to the vine.  This is what happens through confession: Jesus heals the connection to him that had been damaged or broken because of our sin.  And in the Eucharist, our union with Christ is strengthened more powerfully than at any other time.  Through it we receive an influx of grace like no other.  In the Eucharist, the sap from the vine comes directly into us to nourish us and give us strength.  Every Holy Communion, therefore, is like a spiritual springtime in which a new outpouring of divine life surges into our hearts and minds.

          Third, staying united to the vine requires loving obedience to God's will.  This is that to which Saint John refers in today's Second Reading when he writes: "Children, let us not love one another in word or in speech, but in deed and truth."  It's easy to say pretty words: that is, to talk the talk of being a good Catholic.  But that talk has to translate into actions.  Otherwise, we are no better than actors on a stage, making a show out of looking like Christ's followers, but not really following Christ.  Eastern Orthodox Saint Diadochus of Photike put it this way: “All of us who are human beings are in the image of God.  But to be in his likeness belongs only to those who by great love have attached their freedom to God.”  To stay attached to the vine, we must attach our freedom to God through our acts of loving obedience to his will.

          Fourth, staying united to the vine means allowing God to prune us.  Jesus says that each healthy branch of the vine must be pruned "so that it bears more fruit."  This pruning takes the form of suffering, which may come in the form of painful, physical sufferings, like sickness, disease, financial insecurity, or old-age, or it may come in the form of hidden, interior sufferings, like losing a loved one or watching a dear relative abandon their Catholic faith.  Whenever God permits these kinds of sufferings—that is, the ones over which we don't seem to have any control—we have to let our faith remind us that they are under his control.  He is the vine-dresser.  He knows how much pruning we can handle and he knows how to use that suffering to unite us more deeply with Christ, who suffered on the cross to redeem the world.  In times of pain and hardship, therefore, we must recognize that God is begging us to trust in him more and more, to pray in the depths of our hearts that beautiful prayer that he himself taught us through his revelations to Saint Faustina of the Divine Mercy: "Jesus, I trust in you."  Accepting the Cross, not rebelling when God tries to prune us, is the secret of how all the saints remained united to Christ.

          Prayer, the sacraments, loving obedience, and suffering in union with Christ are what keep the grace which is God’s divine life flowing in our lives.  These yield the fruit for which we most yearn: a life that resounds with meaning and energy, a life that positively impacts others and exudes joy and enthusiasm, a life that changes this world for the better in as profound a way as Christ's own life did, and a life whose meaning and impact overflow into eternity.  This is what God wants for us; this is why Jesus came to earth: “By this is my Father glorified,” he said,

“that you bear much fruit and become my disciples.”  Bearing such fruit makes life worth living; because without it we are dry, dead branches good for nothing except the fire.

          As we continue with this Mass, let's thank God from the depths of our hearts for uniting us to the vine of Christ.  And when we receive our Lord in Holy Communion, let's promise him that this week we will make a decent effort to do our part to protect and strengthen that union.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – April 28^th & 29^th, 2018

Awaken your drowsy heart!

Homily: 2^nd Sunday of Advent – Cycle B

          Last Saturday marked the end of the liturgical year.  In the Gospel reading for the Mass of the day on that last day of the Church year, Jesus is quoted as saying, “Beware that your hearts do not become drowsy from carousing and drunkenness and the anxieties of daily life….” (Luke 21:34) It’s no accident that that particular reading is read on the last day of the Church liturgical year.  After 34 weeks of Ordinary Time—when we focus on growing spiritually and morally in the context of our daily lives—the Church realizes that most of us probably do have hearts that have “become drowsy”—perhaps from drunkenness and carousing, but most likely from the anxieties of daily life.  And so there is a certain genius on the Church’s part to place that reading right on the cusp of the new liturgical year.  It reminds us that perhaps our hearts have become drowsy and then it ushers us right into Advent, a season designed to help “wake us up.”

          Our first reading today from the prophet Isaiah is a beautiful reading—full of awe and wonder.  While [Name] did a great job reading it, I think it would require a method actor to really convey the joy-filled expectation that these words express.  Listen to some of these again:

Comfort, give comfort to my people,

 says your God.

 Speak tenderly to Jerusalem, and proclaim to her

 that her service is at an end,

her guilt is expiated…

And still further:

…Go up on to a high mountain,

 Zion, herald of glad tidings;

 cry out at the top of your voice,

 Jerusalem, herald of good news!

 Fear not to cry out

 and say to the cities of Judah:

 Here is your God!

These are words of great joy and expectation and are simply wonderful to ponder.  Perhaps, however, we are unable to see the joy that these words convey, at least not in our current situation.  Perhaps, even after one week of Advent, our hearts are still drowsy—tired, weary, and numb—from the anxieties of our daily lives.  Of course, one need not look farther than the newspaper to understand why: violence and drug use continue to escalate in our cities and neighborhoods, jobs continue to be scarce and an economic recovery continues to be lethargic, national politics remains, it seems, disconnected from the daily struggles of individuals and families, natural disasters, like the hurricanes that ravaged south Texas, Puerto Rico and other Caribbean islands, and the wildfires that are consuming large swaths of inhabited land in California, continue to afflict us, and there are countless other reasons as well.  And so no, it’s not surprising that our hearts may have become drowsy and we are unable to relate to the awe and wonder expressed in today’s first reading.

          Yet, when we listen to the Gospel reading, we see that the Jews living during Jesus’ time also seemed to be struggling with the same problem.  Now, the Gospel of Mark is notoriously slim on narrative details and so we’ll have to read between the lines a little bit to see that their hearts were also drowsy and in need of awakening.  His Gospel begins by quoting our reading from the prophet Isaiah.  He follows it by describing John’s proclamation in the desert, calling for a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.  Essentially, Mark has equated the two, saying (without saying it specifically) that John’s call to repentance in the desert is the same call to “prepare the way” that Isaiah had made, centuries earlier.

          The Gospel then states that “people of the whole Judean countryside and all the inhabitants of Jerusalem were going out to him.”  In other words, the whole Jewish nation heard of John’s proclamation and began to come to him to be baptized.  Perhaps many of them were reluctant at first, unable to see the “awe” in the awe-filled proclamation that John was making.  Eventually, perhaps through the witness of seeing others go out to the Jordan River or of speaking with others who returned from there, these reluctant ones could see that their hearts indeed had become drowsy waiting for the coming of God that Isaiah had promised.  With “hearts awake,” however, they could experience the joy-filled expectation that the coming promised by the prophet was now at hand.

          And so we encounter these readings here today in this season of Advent for the same purpose: to call us to recognize the drowsiness of our own hearts so that we too may awaken to the experience of joy-filled expectation for the second-coming of Jesus.  Just like those ancient Jews, it feels like Christ’s promised return is long-delayed, but when we recognize—as Saint Peter reminds us in our second reading today—that “with the Lord one day is like a thousand years and a thousand years like one day,” it makes it easier to see that Jesus’ delay is, ultimately, for our benefit.  Christ wishes that all of us should come to repentance, as Saint Peter reminds us, and so every second that he delays—which is as nothing to him—is a gift of opportunity for us to wake up our drowsy hearts (and the hearts of others!), so as to be ready when he comes.

          My sisters and brothers, Jesus did not tell his disciples to “beware that their hearts not become drowsy” because he is an exacting master, demanding strict discipline so as never to sin.  Rather, he was instructing them—and so us through the preservation of his words in the Gospels—to remain vigilant so that they would not be “asleep”—that is, too focused on either indulgence in worldly things or on the anxieties of daily life—and, thus, miss out on the joy of witnessing his return in glory.  My sisters and brothers, this is what the season of Advent is doing for us.  It’s as if the season itself is saying, “Take comfort, for this time of suffering is at an end and the time for Christ’s return is near!”  If it hasn’t done this for you yet, then I encourage you to spend time praying with these readings in this coming week and to ask God to awaken in your heart a joy-filled expectation for his coming.  And if it has?  Well, I think the Gospel then shows us what to do.

          All of the people from the Judean countryside and the city-dwellers of Jerusalem came out to John to receive the baptism of repentance and to acknowledge their sins—to “make straight a path” in their hearts for the coming of the long-awaited Messiah, the one Isaiah promised.  We too, then, are called to repent and acknowledge our sins.  For the fully-initiated, that means the sacrament of reconciliation—or confession—and it is why the Church encourages all Catholics to celebrate this sacrament during the season of Advent.  As we hear the readings reminding us of how the ancient Jews prepared the way of the Lord in their hearts at the sound of John’s proclamation, so we too are called to prepare a pathway for Christ to come into our hearts by reconciling with both God and our neighbor through the sacrament of confession.

          Friends, beware that yours hearts do not become drowsy from the oversaturation of “Christmas Spirit” in which the world outside of these walls is drowning you.  Rather, use this time of Advent to prepare your heart well for Christ’s second coming and the best gift you will receive on Christmas day will be the joy of the Lord in your heart: the joy present to us, even now, here in this Eucharist.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – December 9^th & 10^th, 2017

Faith is not blind

Homily: 2^nd Sunday of Lent – Cycle C

          Most of you, I’m sure, will remember the game show “Let’s Make a Deal” with Monte Hall.  It was a show that defined the genre, in many ways, and whose popularity extends into its reincarnation today, hosted now by Wayne Brady.  You’ll recall that the premise of the show was pretty simple: regular folk were gathered into the studio audience where Monte Hall passed through and chose persons randomly to offer them prizes and then the chance to trade those prizes for the possibility of winning prizes that were more valuable.

          For example: Monte would ask if anyone had a pair of eyelash tweezers and would give the first person he saw who had a pair $100.  Then he would proceed to deal with them, offering them something bigger of unknown value (something, perhaps, behind one of the big doors).  The big doors could hide prizes as valuable as cars or as worthless as a ride on a donkey around the parking lot after the show.  Thus, the crux of the show: will the person—who had nothing but a pair of eyelash tweezers to start with—give up the $100 for a chance to win something much more valuable, knowing that it could actually be something worthless; thus leaving them to go home having lost even the eyelash tweezers?

          Of course, there was never any way to know for sure what would be beyond those big doors.  Thus, the contestants would have to take a blind leap of faith that there was something valuable behind the door if they wanted the chance to take home a more valuable prize.  The fact that, more often than not, people did end up taking home more valuable prizes meant that the show remained wildly popular for a long time.

          The contestants on the show had to use blind faith if they wanted to win a big prize.  On the surface, that doesn’t seem too different from the deal that God was offering Abram in today’s first reading.

          The beginning of our reading lands us right in the middle of the conversation, it seems, where God invites Abram outside of his tent and says: “Look up at the sky and count the stars, if you can.  Just so … shall your descendents be.”  Perhaps our natural reaction is to think, “Abram would have seen thousands of stars… that would be a pretty impressive promise.”  When we keep reading, however, we realize that it wasn’t at night that God proposed this promise, but it was the middle of the day, because later in the reading it describes the day approaching sunset, indicating that the earlier part of the conversation must have been in the daytime.  Abram, therefore, couldn’t see the stars that God was asking him to count: rather, they were “hidden” behind the “big door” of the sky.

          So, when the reading says that “Abram put his faith in the Lord”, was it blind faith?  I don’t think so.  You see, on “Let’s Make a Deal” the contestants couldn’t know what was behind the door and, thus, were “blind” to whether or not it hid a valuable prize.  Abram, on the other hand, knew the vast quantity of stars that were out there: he had seen them.  And so, when God promised him that his descendants would be as numerous as the stars, even though at that moment he couldn’t begin to count them (because he couldn’t see them), he knew that they were there and so his faith was not blind.  It’s as if God had said to him: “Just as you know that there is a vast quantity of stars out there, even though now you cannot see them, so, too, there is a vast quantity of descendants that will follow you, even though now you cannot see them.  And just as sure as you are that the stars will appear after the sun sets, so will these numerous descendants of yours appear after the sun has set on your life.”

          This, my brothers and sisters, is the essence of what faith is.  In the Letter to the Hebrews it says that “faith is the realization of things hoped for, and the evidence of things not seen.”  Faith is “evidence”, it says.  Therefore, when “Abram put his faith in the Lord” it wasn’t just a good feeling that he had, but rather a conviction that supplied to him the evidence that his eyes could not give him.  “I cannot see my descendants,” he might have thought to himself, “but Faith convicts me that what the Lord says is true; thus, I will place my trust in him.”

          Elsewhere in the Gospels, Jesus’ disciples ask him to “increase their faith”, to which Jesus famously responds: “If you have faith the size of a mustard seed, you would say to this mulberry tree, ‘be uprooted and planted in the sea,’ and it would obey you”, indicating that he wanted them to have confidence in the faith that they already had.  Nonetheless, Jesus does offer his handpicked leaders—Peter, John, and James—the opportunity to grow the faith (that is, the “evidence of things not seen”) within them when he takes them up on the mountain and allows them to see him in his glory in the transfiguration.  He permits this because he knows that they will have their faith “shaken” when he is arrested, condemned, and crucified.  Faith will tell them that death is not the end for Jesus, but rather divine glory is; and so they can persevere, even though all seems to have been lost.  Faith, strengthened by the experience of the transfiguration, supplied the evidence that their eyes could not see.

          My brothers and sisters, faith is an undeserved gift from God that supplies us with the conviction that what God has revealed to us is true and that what God has promised to us will be ours.  Faith was given to us at baptism.  This is why, in the Rite of Baptism, just after the minister asks the name of the one to be baptized, he asks the one to be baptized, “What do you ask of God’s Church” and the one to be baptized can reply: “Faith”; because, in a very real way, baptism infuses faith into the one who is baptized.

          Just as the outward experience of seeing Jesus in his glory gave the Apostles the inward assurance of Jesus’ resurrection, so too the outward evidence of baptism ought to give us the inward assurance of the truth that Faith reveals to us: that we are now citizens of heaven who await the second coming of Jesus, our savior, who will transform our mortal bodies to be like his glorified body and, thus, welcome us to enter with him into our true and eternal home.

          By our sinfulness and our lack of diligence in our spiritual lives Faith is dimmed within us.  Lent, therefore, is our time to clear away all that leads us into sin and to restore our focus on the spiritual life so that the light of Faith will continue to supply us with the evidence we need to trust in God’s promises.  The Sacrament of Reconciliation along with the Lenten disciplines of prayer, fasting, and giving alms are the tools that we use to achieve this end.  Let us, therefore, my brothers and sisters, rededicate ourselves today to using these tools to their fullest; so that, on Easter Sunday, we may celebrate knowing that the greatest prize of all time has already been won for us through Christ Jesus our Lord: the fullness of eternal life.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – February 21^st, 2016

Receive mercy. Give mercy.

Homily: 5^th Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle C

          In March of 2003, I was an engineer who had set himself on a path towards a career in the automotive industry.  I was at a point in my life when I knew that there were some things that would have to change—not so that I could be successful, but rather so that I could be happy—but I never thought that those changes would take me too far from engineering.  Nevertheless, after participating in a parish mission, I realized that my life might soon be radically different.

          You see, during that parish mission I had encountered Jesus in a very personal way; and when I encountered him I was suddenly deeply aware of my sinfulness (and of how broken I was because of my sinfulness).  There I went to confession for the first time in over 12 years and I experienced in a profound way the depths of God’s mercy.  I left from that week knowing that my life had changed forever—that God would be sending me in a different direction—even though I wouldn’t know what that direction would look like until some time later

          One of the things that I did quickly realize, however, was that my life would now have to be focused on others.  In other words, I knew that, because I had received God’s mercy, God wanted me to be an instrument of his mercy to others.  Thus, even while I prayed to discern God’s vocation for my life, I began to involve myself in the various outreach ministries in my parish.  Of course, we all know the rest of the story: that the specific way that God was calling me to be an instrument of his mercy was to be a priest in his Church.

          The prophet Isaiah was a minister in the Temple of Jerusalem.  One day, while performing his liturgical duties in the Temple, Isaiah was given a vision of the glory of heaven and of the presence of God.  In spite of the splendor of this vision, Isaiah turns away from it because, in the presence of God, he is acutely aware of his sinfulness—and, thus, his unworthiness to stand in God’s presence.  Just then an angel carries an ember from the altar and “purifies” him by touching it to his lips so that he no longer has to fear being in the presence of God.  Isaiah was mercifully cleansed from his sinfulness.  In response, when the voice of the Lord calls out for someone to send on a mission, Isaiah promptly replies, “Here I am; send me!”  Although he was already ministering to the Lord in the Temple, his experience of God’s mercy inspired him to volunteer to be sent forth on a mission to be the voice of God’s mercy to others.

          Peter was a fisherman in Galilee.  He must not have been a bad fisherman, either, because the Gospel tells us that Jesus got into the boat “belonging to Simon” and only those who had been successful could afford to own their own boat.  After Jesus had instructed him to put out into deep water and lower his nets for a catch—at a time of day in which no one would catch anything, and after having spent the night (that is, the good time for catching fish) lowering his nets and catching nothing—Peter was astounded at the catch that was made and knew that he was in the presence of someone powerful.  This realization was immediately followed by an acute awareness of his own sinfulness; and so Peter bows down before Jesus and acknowledges as much before him.  Jesus, however, shows him mercy and gives him a commission to draw others to experience his mercy, too, when he says: “Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching men.”

          And although it wasn’t recounted for us in our reading today, Paul’s career as an Apostle is a direct result of the same pattern.  On the road to Damascus—when he was still persecuting the first Christians—Paul encountered the Risen Jesus.  After that appearance, Paul was acutely aware of his sinfulness.  God showed him his mercy, however, and then sent him out to proclaim the Good News of his mercy to the nations.  Paul, in his letter to the Corinthians, does acknowledge this for us when he says “For I am the least of the apostles, not fit to be called an apostle, because I persecuted the church of God.  But by the grace of God [that is, the mercy of God] I am what I am, and his grace to me has not been ineffective.”

          This pattern, I think, can be summed up in a simple phrase: Receive mercy, give mercy.  In each of these examples that I’ve recounted—in spite of the very different circumstances in which each occurred—the person became aware that he was in the presence of God and, thus, became acutely aware of his sinfulness.  Acknowledging his sinfulness before God, however, God showed him his mercy.  Having received God’s mercy, he then turned to become an instrument of God’s mercy in the world.  In other words, first he received mercy and then he gave it.  This is not an experience for the “chosen few”, however.  Rather, it is something that all of us can experience.

          In order to receive mercy, one must first acknowledge his or her sinfulness before God.  We are all sinners and so to openly acknowledge this before God invites him to show us his mercy.  Then, having received his mercy, our lives our changed and we go forth, not to return to our sinful way of life, but rather to live our lives for him and to be instruments of his mercy in the unique vocation that he has given to each of us.  Pope Francis, in his message for Lent this year, says that “God’s mercy transforms human hearts; it enables us, through the experience of a faithful love, to become merciful in turn.”  In other words, when we receive God’s mercy we are transformed and, thus, enabled to give mercy to others.

          Speaking of Lent, everybody knows that Lent begins this week, right?  The season of Lent is a privileged time for us to live this pattern—receive mercy, give mercy—because the two main elements are built right in.  All Catholics are encouraged to celebrate the sacrament of Reconciliation during Lent, in which we acknowledge our sinfulness before God and receive his mercy.  We are also encouraged to perform the works of mercy—specifically, giving alms to the poor—thus giving us the chance to give God’s mercy to others.  What better time to renew these two powerful elements of the spiritual life than this Jubilee Year of Mercy?

          Perhaps, then, this week you’ll take a moment to make a firm commitment before God to make these two elements part of your Lenten renewal: to receive God’s mercy in the Sacrament of Reconciliation and to give God’s mercy by engaging in the corporal and spiritual works of mercy.  I promise you that, if you make that commitment and follow through with it, your life will be different at Easter: different in a wonderful and powerful way.

          Strengthened by this Eucharist that we celebrate today, my brothers and sisters, we can make this happen.  May Our Mother Mary, who received such great mercy when she agreed to give birth to God’s Son and who then gave (and continues to give) such great mercy to others, intercede for us and lead us to the merciful arms of her Son, where all that we have hoped for will be found.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – February 7^th, 2016

Rocky Mountain High...

So, I have this week in between trips to Saint Meinrad for different "continuing formation" programs and I really thought that I'd have some free time to take care of some odds and ends.  That is not happening, though, and so it's Tuesday night and I am publishing my Sunday homily... from last Sunday :-/

Anyway, I hope you enjoy it and I hope that your Lent has been fruitful so far.  May God continue to bless your prayer and your work!

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Homily: 2nd Sunday of Lent – Cycle C

I would guess that most of us here have had the experience of being on vacation where everything has been working out just perfect.  Flights were on time, there was no traffic, the hotel was actually better than what the pictures in the advertisement showed it to be; the weather was perfect and you had just the right amount of time to do all of the things that you had set out to do without rushing through anything, which left you with just enough down time to relish all that you’ve enjoyed.  It’s the kind of vacation that makes you think to yourself, “Man, I wish that we could just stay here forever.”

For me, it was a trip to Rome two years ago where I most experienced this feeling.  I was traveling with a group of seminarians on a study tour through Rome and some of the surrounding areas.  It was January, but the weather was all but perfect: Mostly sunny and about mid-60’s each day, which was just about perfect for walking through the city and seeing all of the sights.  Ancient ruins, the great Basilicas and holy places, an audience with the Pope, some of my closest friends from the seminary, and, of course, incredible pastas and wine every night.  You can probably imagine how much I desired to return home.  In fact, I remember very clearly telling Fr. Denis, the rector of our seminary who was leading the trip, “You better hope that the weather turns bad before we have to leave, because if it doesn’t there’s no way that I’m going back to Indiana in January.  I’ll stay here and join a band of gypsies if I have to.”  Of course what I was saying was “It is good that we are here.  I wish that we could stay here forever.”

Thus, I certainly wouldn’t blame Peter for his response to his experience on the mountain that we heard in today’s Gospel reading.  You could imagine what it was like living in Israel in ancient times.  There was no indoor plumbing or modern sewage system.  There were no street cleaners or washing machines.  For the most part, people walked around pretty dirty and for them that was normal.  Thus, when Peter, James and John got a glimpse of the glory of God when Jesus was transfigured before them, and when they saw Moses and Elijah—the two great prophets of the Hebrew people—standing there with Jesus, it’s no surprise that Peter blurts out (even in his fear) “Lord, it is good that we are here.  Let’s set up some tents and stay here.”

That’s a natural tendency for us, isn’t it?  That once we’ve experienced an escape from the messiness of our daily lives we think it easier to throw all of that away and grasp onto what is in front of us: an experience of beauty, closeness with others, and joy.  But soon, however, we realize that the experience that is in front of us cannot be contained and we find that what we thought was an escape was nothing more than a temporary reprieve.

Peter, James and John get that awakening.  Peter wanted to build tents and stay on the mountain, but, as the Scriptures tell us, “he did not know what he was talking about.”  This was an experience of Jesus, the Son of God, as someone wholly different from him—as someone completely beyond his grasp—yet Peter wanted to stuff him into a tent so as to keep that experience for himself and the other two.

Christ, for his part, wouldn’t allow that.  Just as after his resurrection, when Mary Magdalene met him in the garden outside of the tomb, Jesus told her “Stop holding onto me.  I have not yet ascended to my Father”; and when he told his disciples at his Ascension into heaven “Do not be sad, for I must go up so that I can send the Spirit to you,” so here Christ does not allow the apostles to hold onto the experience of his glory, but rather he directs them back down the mountain to take that experience to others.  In other words, these experiences were meant to be permanent—at least, not in this world, anyway—but rather catalysts propelling them into the world to proclaim Christ’s glory.

Nevertheless, I believe that this experience of Christ’s transfiguration can be a model for us during Lent.  Every year, the Church sets aside this time to be for us a “retreat” of sorts.  During Lent we are called to take a serious look at our lives to see where we’ve been falling short in following the way that Jesus laid out for us.  Even more so, however, we are being called by Jesus to this “mountaintop experience.”  Through fasting and abstinence we leave off the messiness of our daily lives so as to follow Christ up the mountain.  Thus detached from the world, we are freed to see him as he truly is in prayer.  Having experienced Jesus as he truly is, we then come down the mountain—renewed and energized—to take this experience to our neighbors by witnessing what we’ve experienced both in words and in acts of love.

It starts with detachment.  My brothers and sisters, we must learn to detach ourselves from the things of this world, otherwise we’ll never even make it up the mountain to experience Christ in a profound way.  One way we do that, of course (I mean, aside from our fasting and abstinence), is through the Sacrament of Reconciliation.  Through it we commit ourselves not only to leaving off our sinful ways, which bind us to the world, but we step forward to encounter Christ in an intimate way, reconciling our hearts to his.  My dear friends, if you have not celebrated this sacrament yet during Lent, I hope that you will make a commitment today to do so soon.  Second only to an encounter with Jesus’ real presence in the Eucharist, the Sacrament of Reconciliation is the best place for you to experience that deep, personal encounter with Christ in the person of the priest, to feel his love for you, and to receive his healing forgiveness that has the power to free you from whatever binds you to this world.

My brothers and sisters, if you’ve been afraid of returning to the Sacrament of Reconciliation, or if you’ve just been apathetic about it, now is the time to face your fear or apathy and to follow Jesus’ call to meet him on the mountain, where he desires to reveal to you his glory and to hear, not only the words of the Father regarding him—“This is my chosen Son”—but also the words of the Father regarding yourselves: “You are my chosen son… you are my chosen daughter… and I love you.”  If we can know that, my dear friends, then we won’t need the mountain any longer and on Easter Sunday we’ll rush down it proclaiming the joy that we celebrate even now: He is risen!

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – February 23rd & 24th, 2013

(Generally) Quick Takes...

It's been quite some time since I've posted and so I thought that I would simply throw some things out there that have been piquing my interest in the last few weeks to give you all a clue as to what's been going on with me. And so, in no particular order...

1. My summer pastor, Fr. Bob, has been out of town three times since I've been ordained a deacon and each time something has come up that has made very clear to me the responsibility that comes with the title "pastor." The first two times there were funerals and this last time I baptized a four year old boy who was about to go in for brain surgery. (Please pray for Wyatt!) It's amazing how the Holy Spirit comes through when you have no idea how to handle a situation!

2. The National Catholic Reporter recently ran this article in their publication about the Vatican promoting Eucharistic Adoration. Please read the whole thing. There are many members of the Church (clergy and lay persons) who think that promoting Eucharistic Adoration is a bad thing. After you've read this article, I think you will have a better idea of where they are coming from. I'm not trying to say that they are right, but I am trying to say that if we even want to begin to become unified as a body in the Church (and I think that Jesus probably wants that), then we need to try to understand where each side is coming from so we can begin speaking on the same terms.

That being said, I just have a couple of questions for the people who think that Eucharistic Adoration takes away from the celebration of the Eucharist... Isn't our God big enough for both? Why do we have to limit ourselves to one form of worship? With the limited availability of priests, wouldn't you think that providing a valid, Church approved form of worship (in the form of perpetual, or at least regular, adoration) would actually add to peoples' desire to celebrate the Eucharist, without which they wouldn't even have the opportunity to adore? Besides, it seems that the sensum fidei, led by the authentic Magisterium of the Church, is supporting the expanding of Eucharistic Adoration, so why try to squash something that is obviously helping the Faithful to deepen their devotion to God?

In my entirely un-magisterial opinion, it seems to me that those who discourage Eucharistic Adoration are placing limits on what Christ gave us when he gave us the gift of his Real Presence in the Eucharist. I want to understand more, however, so I hope that I can have an open conversation with someone who stands against the promotion of Eucharistic Adoration.

3. Last Thursday was Blessed Kateri Tekakwitha's feast day. Ever since I co-led a youth mission trip to a Native American reservation in Oklahoma a five years ago, I've had a devotion to this saint of North America. In doing some research for preaching that day, I came across this NPR spot that described a healing that is under consideration as the second miracle attributed to her intercession. I pray that it goes through as North America needs more home-born saints!

4. Work here in the parishes of Anderson continues to go well. The most frustrating thing so far has been that there is nothing going on during the summer. There's been a few youth events, but hardly any other type of organized activity. Thus, my days consist mostly of liturgy (morning prayer and mass) and visiting the homebound and those in nursing homes. Don't get me wrong, I am honored to bring Holy Communion to those who can't come to Mass, but I guess I was hoping that there would be more to get involved in while I was here.

5. Check out this article about the government in Ireland proposing a law that would require priests to break the seal of confession to report perpetrators of abuse. This is simply preposterous and shows how far the secularization of western culture has come. Don't think that something like this can't happen in the U.S.! Pray, pray, pray for our nation's leaders and get involved and vote!

Ok, I don't have any more. I don't know if there are rules for how many quick takes one's supposed to have when one does this. Thus, I feel free to just stop after five :) I think that this catches me up, however, so until next time - Adios!